


The Undercover Orientation of Matt the Radar Technician

by welzes



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Reality, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-01 22:04:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13304238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welzes/pseuds/welzes
Summary: Ben Solo is born without Force abilities, drastically altering the tides to an otherwise tumultuous future. When rumors a Force-sensitive apprentice to Supreme Leader Snoke reaches the Resistance’s ears, Ben is installed in the Finalizer as a radar technician to gather information. His orientation to the job doesn’t go as smoothly as he’d hoped, but at least he has permission to sabotage the First Order at any given opportunity.





	The Undercover Orientation of Matt the Radar Technician

**Author's Note:**

> For pure entertainment purposes. Please don’t take any of this seriously.
> 
> Ben’s so-called personality in this work is a goofy amalgamation of his canon persona and Matt, sprinkled with some contrasting qualities to separate his identity from that of Kylo Ren. The end result is an awkward giant in possession of a bizarre sense of humor but sarcastic wit. He’s also a lot nicer and better at handling his feelings than Ren, if more reckless.

It was the day before launch, and Han was skeptical of the idea.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“More than anything,” said Ben.

“Listen, kid.” Han shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands perched on his sides. “I know you can smuggle your way into a First Order ship, and I’m not worried about that. But this is Snoke’s apprentice we’re talking about—a _Force_ -sensitive apprentice.”

It was concern speaking. Evidently, Han was concerned for his son’s ability to fend off a mental onslaught, which Ben acknowledged to be his greatest potential weakness. Still, Ben refused to be deterred.

“Yes, I’m aware,” he replied. “The matter of the target’s capabilities was made known to me during the briefing with the General.”

Han breathed, his shoulders rising and dropping with the action. Beside him, Chewie made a low keening sound. “You’re as reckless as your old man. What are you posing as, anyway?”

“A radar technician.”

“A radar—Ben, do you even know what a calcinator is?”

Ben shrugged his shoulders. “How difficult can it be?”

  
  


As it turned out, it was more difficult than he’d presumed. He cringed as his supervisor—a woman of caustic character with a fondness for breakfast—yelled at him, doing nothing to expedite the process by refusing to point out where the calcinator was in the mess of wires. He tentatively reached out to one of the coils, and the woman launched into another shrill tirade.

“What’s the matter with you? Were you dropped on the head?” she demanded.

“I was born with a full set of teeth,” muttered Ben.

The woman leaned in with a nod and a seering look. “Oh, I see. Is that right? Well, then I hope your teeth are smarter than you and clamp down on that calcinator. Any day now, _Matt_.”

“Can you please stop saying my name so patronizingly?”

“Use your teeth, _Matt_.”

Ben disguised the shake of his head in the guise of a wandering nod, sucking in the sterile air of the Finalizer through his nose. Why was everyone on-board so high-strung? Weren’t rebellions built on hope? It was now six hours into his orientation, and Ben was under the impression that nobody on the Finalizer was particularly hopeful about conquering the galaxy; the majority of the crew was more invested in caf and muffins to get through another stressful day.

Wetting his lips, Ben reached forward. He still had no idea where the calcinator was, and his supervisor would sooner rip his teeth out and feed them to him than guide his hand. But this wasn’t a Resistance ship, he reminded himself, and so he picked up the wire cutter and cut the nearest wire without a thought for what he was doing.

In the distance, he heard alarms blaring and the rush of footsteps as stormtroopers and staff alike rushed to address the problem.

His supervisor roared, smacking Ben upside the head. He lurched forward from the impact and rammed straight into the closed panel in front of him, the frame of his glasses jabbing him in the eyes. Ben drew back with a sharp hiss.

A march of militant footsteps stopped his supervisor in the middle of her harangue. Gingerly righting his glasses and blinking away the blur in his achy vision, Ben chanced a glance at the pack of newcomers.

A man clad in the sleeves of a First Order general towered over the technicians, his posture stiff and expression severe. Ben recognized him as General Hux, who didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as his mother based on first impression.

“What exactly is the problem here?” demanded Hux.

“We cut the calcinator,” said Ben, and he caught a glimpse of his supervisor breathing in and out in thinly veiled contempt. “We’ll fix it.”

Hux squinted, glanced at the open panel, then turned back to face forward. “See to it that you do and that this never happens again. The First Order will tolerate no incompetence of this scale. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Ben. He reached out to retrieve the wrench that a stormtrooper had kicked out of the way when Hux began to walk, catching the General’s ankle with his hand. Hux fell on his face with an undignified squawk, and Ben raised his prize for everyone to see. “My wrench.”

In hindsight, it was a miracle that he wasn’t terminated on the spot, but, as it turned out, the First Order was facing an urgent shortage of radar technicians. On the bright side, his supervisor got to eat her muffin after she decided that she’d had enough of him for the day, and the rest of his orientation was left to a senior technician.

  
  


Ben’s sliding scale of competency in his self-proclaimed field was soon treated as simply another facet of being on-board the Finalizer, and he found himself starting to recognize the bare faces in the employee lounge as they engaged him in everyday discussion. He was astounded by the normalcy of their topics, as well as the gossip that ran rampant between the crew of all ranks.

“I heard you fixed the problem with the TIE that’s been driving the mechanics crazy,” said a stormtrooper. “I don’t get you, man. You signed on as a radar technician, but you can’t get anything right. But put an actual ship in front of you, and it’s like you’re a wizard. What’s up with that?”

Ben shrugged. Truthfully, working with ships was more intuitive than staring blearily at wires and parts that were familiar enough to be recognizable, but just foreign enough for his struggles to surface. He had his father’s influence to thank for the former.

“I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been lucky,” he said.

The stormtrooper sniggered with a look that wasn’t entirely flattering. “You probably filled out the wrong job application.”

In fact, it would have been more advantageous to have signed on as a mechanic, but the vacancy had been with radars. Ben scowled, however, for he couldn’t risk exposure for demonstrating an unexpected talent outside of his proposed job description. So he flew the next TIE fighter straight into the closed gates of the Finalizer’s hangar, dragging the wing to paint impressive streaks of friction across the pristine floor and ramming through many a machine of war in his path of destruction.

  
  


In the blink of an eye, he was seated before the Supreme Leader’s elusive apprentice, who turned out to be a woman at least ten years his junior. She studied him with a piercing look, as if she were searching for something beyond what Ben’s blasé countenance had to offer.

“Why did you do it?” she asked. Ben blinked.

“Do what?”

“Crash the TIE in the hangar,” she said as she started circling him, her eyes reminiscent to those of a hawk watching its prey.

“It was an accident,” said Ben. “I was testing to make sure it was operational.”

“You’re not a mechanic. I’ve checked your credentials—you’re a radar technician.”

Ben swallowed. If he misstepped, she would use the Force on him. “They needed an outside opinion. I happened to be around.”

The apprentice stopped exactly behind where Ben was positioned, the last of her footsteps echoing loudly in the private chamber. Ben looked off into the distance, awaiting her verdict with a bated breath.

He exhaled quietly when she said, “You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you,” said Ben, casually climbing onto his feet to avoid sparking suspicion with unnecessary haste.

He froze at the entrance, the doors open, when the apprentice added: “You’ll be careful not to stir trouble in departments outside of your jurisdiction again. Is that clear?”

Ben looked over his shoulder, but not far enough to see the space between them, much less the apprentice herself. “Yes.”

“And drop by the medical bay. You're bleeding.”

Dimly, he realized that he'd sustained a cut on his temple and that blood was trickling down the side of his face. He visited the medical bay as instructed, where his head was treated before he held the medical droid in front of him like a shield when his supervisor stormed into the bay with the intent of stuffing his remains in an obscure supply closet. Ben lived another day to tell the tale once he promised her half-dozen muffins for impunity.

  
  


At the next lounge meeting, Ben asked the usual crowd of stormtroopers, “What do you think about the Supreme Leader’s apprentice?”

“What’s there to think? She hasn’t done anything yet,” said the opinionated stormtrooper, glancing incredulously at Ben.

The lieutenant colonel—who Ben learned was called Zack—piped up, “No, but she’s the first major news in a while. The Supreme Leader chose her himself. Think about it—she could change _everything_! This could be the breakthrough the Order’s been in sore need of. I have to be honest: if all goes well, she’ll be synonymous with hope for our vision.”

Ben nodded along all of once, his gaze drifting from Zack to the table, staring but unseeing. Hope, he echoed in his mind. A prickly sensation surged through his chest at the thought.

  
  


For the most part, Ben behaved himself and stayed within the boundaries of his so-called job, though his control did little wonder for his fluctuating competence. He still didn't know what a calcinator looked like, and his supervisor still refused to tell him. “Ask your teeth, Matt,” she would say. At least his teeth had been with him all these years, and they never mocked or teased him.

The apprentice became an increasingly common presence within the Finalizer, passing through the corridors with long, purposeful strides that betrayed her inexperience in the forcefulness of each step, absent of the grace Hux displayed in his march. (If nothing else, the General was by the book and cut the fair image of a confident leader.) Ben would watch her from the corner of his eyes, though she deigned not to give him the time of day in return. He couldn't help but notice the permanent set in her jaw, as though she’d lose something important if she were to relax for even one breath.

Ben felt his own jaw tighten. The apprentice did not suspect him, but her ignoring of his existence was as detrimental to his assignment. This was where his mission would begin: He’d have to make the first move.


End file.
